


Genesis

by orphan_account



Series: Genesis [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Crew as Family, Gen, Hurt Jim, Hurt/Comfort, Interrogation, Post Episode 9, Section 31 (Star Trek), Star Fleet Politics, Tarsus IV, protective crew
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:28:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22296337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A Captain is all things to all people. Jim is running on fumes and it takes more than good luck and nerves of steel to be the leader the crew of the Enterprise need.Repost from FF.net
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy, James T. Kirk & Nyota Uhura, James T. Kirk & Spock
Series: Genesis [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1141850
Comments: 52
Kudos: 213





	1. Uhura

**Author's Note:**

> I first posted this fic back in 2011, so it's wild looking back and seeing how my writing style has changed over the years. I began the process of bringing old fics here to A03 and then promptly failed, so here I am again, starting from the very beginning with the aim of posting a chapter a night in this insanely long series. I used to be good at maintaining that level of posting commitment, and need to get back into the habit of organizing my damn self!
> 
> So hi to everyone from back in the good old days, and hi to everyone new to my Trek fics!

_I look around at the new cadets now and can't help thinking... has it really been so long? Wasn't it only yesterday we stepped onto the Enterprise as boys? That I had to prove to the crew I deserved command... and their respect?_

-James T. Kirk (Deleted Scene from XI)

* * *

In the hours following the destruction of the Narada any well-earned celebration of their own success had to be quickly been put aside as they faced the more practical reality of their situation. Running a starship was a laborious task on the best of days; with a cracked hull, no warp, and a large proportion of the crew still nursing injuries from battle, the task of limping back home seemed almost as insurmountable as the odds they had only just overcome.

Out of immediate peril, and on a trajectory for Earth plotted by Ensign Chekov, the weary bridge crew had been ordered to take a much needed six hour break to their duties. Uhura had stumbled to her shared quarters, not expecting to easily find sleep, but within moments of slipping between the cool sheets of her bed, the last dregs of adrenaline leached from her system and unconsciousness had been an almost instant occurrence.

A pre-set alarm woke her with a start as the young nurse assigned to share her cabin fell through the doorway and slumped senselessly over the edge of her own bed. The sight gave Uhura a stir of discomfort at the thought of sleeping while others had worked tirelessly, but she knew rationally there had been no other option but to take the rest ordered. She was no stranger to the exhaustion of long hours, but the stress of combat was a wholly new challenge that rose away her tried and tested coping mechanisms.

The young officers on the bridge crew were all hard-working and dedicated, but they still had their limits. All of them been pushed far beyond what they could reasonably endure.

It had been less than two days since the moment Uhura had set foot on the Enterprise, full of nervous anticipation and the drive to excel. Now the seat that had never meant to be hers felt like the only place she belonged, and the friend she had eagerly awaited to discover in the nurse sharing her cabin was too exhausted to even introducer herself.

So much had happened to them in such a short space of time. Too much.

A quick shower and a fresh uniform later, Uhura figured she was presentable enough to seek refreshment in the mess. Before leaving, she paused to unfasten her sleeping roommate's boots and cover her with the blanket from the cot. She'd make sure to look up her name for the next time they bumped into one another.

Outside of the quiet solace of her cabin, life on the Enterprise was just as she had left it. Crew members hurried about their duties, looking haggard and frayed, but all sharing the same look of fierce determination. No matter how busy they were or how bone-weary they felt, they took a moment to meet the gaze of anyone passing their way. They had all shared in the triumph over the Nerada, and now they turned the same kindred spirit to enduring the long trudge home.

There probably wasn't a person aboard who didn't entertain as much dread for their arrival on Earth as they did anticipation.

Reports from the rest of the fleet were quick to circulate: they knew they were the only ones left.

Uhura quickly pushed that thought away. Soon, she would mourn those who had lost their lives so needlessly, but until then she would honor their memories by better serving those who still lived.

The Senior Officer's Mess was usually a very reserved, calm place to unwind after a long shift. Today, it was filled beyond capacity as it struggled to accommodate not only the crew and their Vulcan passengers, but also the Junior rates whose own Mess Hall on Deck 6 had been destroyed during the attack.

Dozens of caterers were loading trays full of rations and refreshments to be transported out to various departments. Engineering was famous for their lack of self-preservation during a crisis and would be reluctant to leave their positions to seek out sustenance; Medical could probably not afford to spare the precious manpower.

As there was still an hour before she was due back on the bridge, Uhura took her meal to go and followed the haggard-looking Yeoman who was propelling trays out of the hall.

Kirk had ordered them off duty, yes, but he'd not been specific in how they should spend those hours. She was being obtuse, but not acting in contempt, and half looked forward to a verbal sparring match with her new captain should he find offense with her interpretation of his orders.

As irritating as Kirk was, there had never been a moment in their extremely volatile relationship where Uhura hadn't enjoyed arguing with him.

Stepping out the turbolift with the young Yeoman, Uhura was suddenly confronted with the booming baritone of the ship's acting Chief Medical Officer. If consistency was key to creating a calm and cohesive environment during a crisis, then McCoy’s biting temper was nothing if not comforting.

She smiled over at the Yeoman. "His bark is worse than his bite." Her attempt to provide reassurance was shot out of the water when a nurse, surely old enough to withstand a good tongue-lashing, practically ran them both over in his haste to escape from the line of fire.

"I'm a doctor, not a goddamn kindergarten teacher! Act your age, man!”

McCoy was in the middle of a spectacular rant as he shot from one patient to the other, overseeing the diagnostics made by his staff and making his own where necessary. If he had seen any sleep since they had first left Earth's orbit, it didn't look like it had done him any good.

Through the course of her interaction with Kirk over the last few years – as limited as she attempted to keep it – Uhura had come to believe that the friendship the doctor shared with the maverick Cadet Kirk was genuine and caring. She wondered then why Kirk hadn’t ordered McCoy to take rest as he had so firmly done with his Command Crew.

"You there. Uhura." McCoy had spotted her and, with an intimidating scowl on his face, beganmarching towards her, waving his tricorder like a bat. "Where the hell is Jim? He’s not answering his comm.”

Uhura hesitated. "Do you need the Captain for something?" Instead of trying to answer a question she didn't know the answer to – Kirk hadn't been in the Mess Hall, so maybe he was still sleeping? – she posed one of her own. It was a deflection that usually only worked on the very young or the very stupid, and the good doctor was neither.

"The Captain was due on one of my biobeds six hours ago, stubborn little shit. I swear to Christ, I don't understand that kid's aversion to hypos when he's happy to just stand there and let people punch him in the — don't use that one, you senseless moron!" It took a second for her to realize that McCoy was shouting the last part of his run on sentence to someone on the other side of the room. By the time she caught up, the doctor was already moving off to the next problem, but he turned one last time and pinned Uhura down with a fierce gaze. "I don't care what you have to do, but you get Jim Kirk in here pronto, we clear Lieutenant?”

It was the first time she had ever heard McCoy address a junior officer by their rank and not some gruff but affectionate moniker. The seriousness of his request made her snap her heels and fight the urge to salute. "Yes, sir!”

Kirk and McCoy might have their own little idiosyncrasies when it came to their friendship, but if it came to dealing with an irate Doctor McCoy, or a disgruntled Jim Kirk, she'd take the Captain any day of the week.

* * *

"Computer, locate Captain Kirk.”

_"No such crew member exists.”_

After failing to find Kirk on the bridge, Uhura turned to the Enterprise to hunt for her wayward Captain. The sojourn in Medical had cost her the hour she had left on her rotation, and she was the last on the bridge to return to her post.

Aside from Kirk.

At her request, Commander Spock turned and fixed her with one of his unreadable expressions. She could tell just by looking at him that he had sought no sleep either, but whatever he had done in the last six hours had banished the near indistinguishable signs of fatigue Uhura had only noticed out of familiarity.

The negative readout from the computer made more than a few eyebrows rise. Sulu and Chekov were back in their seats, both with damp hair and clean uniforms. Chekov, by virtue of his youth, looked as fresh and buoyant as a daisy. Uhura envied him a little, having caught sight of her reflection more than once on the way to the bridge.

"Computer," Spock addressed the Enterprise, "locate James Tiberius Kirk.”

_"Cadet Kirk is located in Engineering Bay C on Deck 12.”_

Cadet Kirk? Uhura wasn't the only one who cringed. Of course. Kirk wasn't even supposed to be aboard the Enterprise, let alone commanding her. She imagined Spock would make the amendments now the need had been highlighted.

Uhura wasn't one to willingly shirk her duties, but the backlog of communications that flashed up at her station would take all of her concentration to untangle, and she was happy to pass on the task of finding the Captain to Spock.

When further attempts to comm. the Captain failed, Spock tried another route.

"Bridge to Engineering.”

_"Scott here.”_

"Mr Scott, do you perhaps have information regarding the whereabouts and condition of the Captain?”

_"Oh aye.”_

They all waited for Scott's answer. Whenever Jim Kirk was involved in something, the circumstances usually promised to be entertaining, if not downright unbelievable.

When no further elaboration was given, Spock adjusted his position at his station and tilted his chin a touch to the left. It was as close to a physical tell as he ever got; Uhura suspected she was one of the few who could recognize it for what it was.

"If you would be so kind as to expound on the reasons Captain Kirk is unable to respond to attempts to comm. him.”

"Oh I doubt he can hear anything up there. As beautiful as this wee lady is, she can be a bit vocal sometimes.”

Sulu and Chekov shared a long glance over the controls and Uhura shook her head in disgust.

Spock seemed to share her sentiments, for his next statement was practically frosty. "Am I to understand, Mr Scott, that instead of reporting for duty on the Bridge, Captain Kirk is assisting your department with repairs?”

_"Well, he is the Captian, innae? Suppose he just lost track of time.”_

"Indeed." Spocks's gaze narrowed. "Please inform the Captain that his presence is required on the Bridge at his earliest convenience.”

_"Aye sir.”_

"Wait," Several pairs of eyes all fixed on Uhura as she quickly spoke up. If she remained silent now, Kirk wouldn't even need to find an excuse to avoid his check-in with Medical, and McCoy would have no one else to come after but her. "All respect, sir, but Acting CMO McCoy has requested the Captain's presence in Medial.”

There was no mistaking the arch of eyebrow as a questioning one and Uhura fought the urge not to roll her eyes in response to the near-human curiosity on Spock's face. This was exactly why she went out of her way to avoid becoming embroiled in the life of Jim Kirk.

Scott seemed to take her message as more urgent than Spock's reminder of Kirk's duties and promptly bellowed into the comm.

_"Captain! Sir. Captain! Oh for the love a…Oy! Laddie! Get your skinny wee arse down here! There we go. Would ye like me to send him to the Bridge first, Commander?”_

Several of the Command Crew looked positively scandalized at the idea of anyone speaking to the Captain so, Uhura included. Then she remembered that the Captain was Kirk, and sometimes insults were the best way to get his attention.

He was certainly the only Starfleet Captain in history who would sooner reply to 'Oy Laddie' than his rank.

"Unnecessary Mr Scott, thank you. If Doctor McCoy feels the Captain's presence is needed in Medical, it would be unwise to contradict such a request.”

_"Aye, sir, Scott out.”_

Content in the location of their missing Captain, as well as the knowledge that he could get into relatively little trouble while under McCoy's paranoid eye, the crew settled down to complete the mammoth task ahead of them.

* * *

That was five hours ago. Shortly before handover, the doors to the Bridge slid open with a hydraulic hiss, and Doctor McCoy marched through them looking like a man well prepared for a battle.

Spock saw him first, and Uhura, finishing off the latest transmission from Starfleet, caught only the end of the Commander's first words to the doctor.

"I repaired as much of the damage to his central nervous system as I could, but he's going to need to see a microneurosurgeon once we make it back to Earth. Right now he's stable and in no danger of further deterioration, which is the best we can really hope for. Captain Pike's made of strong stuff, so I have every hope for a full recovery. Hell, he'll probably outlive all of us.”

Spock nodded in agreement. "I am pleased to hear that. Your academic references were not exaggerating when they claimed you to be a most able and reliable surgeon.”

Uhura wondered if McCoy had any idea how much of a compliment Spock had just paid him. She also wondered if Spock was aware that in doing so, he was making an effort to rebuild the bridge he had so thoroughly burned down between them.

Probably not.

McCoy clearly didn't see the compliment for what it was, because he shook his head quickly and didn't accept the praise. "Yeah well, he'll certainly live longer than Jim if I has any say in the mater. Now, where is that moronic sonovabitch?”

"I do not believe questioning intelligence or parenthood is a respectful way of addressing your Captain, Doctor McCoy, nor is it considerate of a friend. That said, Captain Kirk is not on the Bridge, nor have any in this room seen him since last he was on duty.”

While Sulu and Uhura did admirable jobs of trying not to look like they were eavesdropping on the conversation, Ensign Chekov did not even bother with pretense. She wasn't sure if that was brave or dense of him.

Probably the latter.

McCoy predictably erupted. Even the feigned pretense of translating the latest transmissions in her Log did not protect her from falling under the doctor's laser-sharp radar.

“Did I not tell you to find him?”

Uhura was neither a little girl, nor was McCoy her father, but the wagging finger in her face and his dark, irate expression made the experience all too familiar to those she had endured growing up. As with her own father, McCoy's attitude did nothing but spark her irritation.

"I did locate him, and the message was passed on as per your request." She flushed hotly, refusing to allow Kirk's own thick-headedness to reflect badly on her own efforts to follow orders. Kirk was a big boy. Did he need her to hold his hand while he went for his check-up?

McCoy spun on his heels and continued to rant, which seemed to be his default mode. "You passed on the message… well that's great, thank you." He spun sharply on his heels. "Do you know how hard it is to actually get that kid to sit still long enough to diagnose a cold, let alone fix up the type of damage he's walking around with?”

"Forgive me, Doctor, but Captain Kirk did not seem to be injured," Spock spoke up in Uhura's defense.

"Right," McCoy's expression was black and angry. "Before he got the living shit kicked out of him by Lord knows how many Romulans, he did a HALO jump through the atmosphere of a planet, fractured five ribs, three metatarsals, and his left tibia, then, before the sets Nurse Chapel performed could even cement, he was being marooned on an iceberg, mauled by a giant carnivorous monster and used as a punching bag by a Vulcan with anger management problems!”

McCoy seemed to say all that without pausing for breath, and the silence that fell upon the Bridge once he had finished was utterly frigid.

The slight against Spock underlined just how far from granting forgiveness the doctor was, but for once the indignation Uhura often felt on his behalf was overtaken by a much more immediate concern.

Kirk hadn't looked any worse for wear when he had sent them all from the Bridge the previous shift. Granted, there had been bruises on his face, but even they hadn’t dimmed the sheer intensity in his eyes, nor the bright gleam of his smile as he had expressed his gratitude to each and every one of them for all their hard work. He had looked, for all intents and purposes, like he merely needed the same rest and refreshment that they all did.

Spock seemed to be working under the same assumptions, for he quickly turned away. "Computer, Locate Captain Kirk.”

Amendments had clearly been made and the computer needed no further prompting.

" _Captain Kirk is located in the Security and Tactical Department on Deck 4._ ”

Neither Spock nor McCoy waited for further information before departing from the bridge.

After only a moment of hesitation. Uhura followed.

* * *

Finding Kirk wasn't as simple as merely pinning down his location from the helpful, but quickly outdated computer. By the time they arrived in Security, Kirk had moved on, but not without leaving a cluster of fiercely determined young crew members in his wake.

Kirk had found the knowledge that he was able to attain access to so many restricted areas of the Enterprise while not having any kind of security clearance to be troublesome. His exact words, apparently. Instead of scolding those responsible, he and Chief Security Officer Marlin had spent three hours drafting up new rotations for all department members.

Given how many of the junior crew members had found themselves in fistfights with Kirk over the last three years, Uhura imagined they would all jump at the chance to prove themselves better than his expectations.

When next consulted, the computer directed them to the forward observation deck. All three were stunned to find Sarek, not Kirk, gazing out into the blackness of space.

"Father." Uhura could see the war in Spock as they reached the elderly Vulcan's side. She waited to see if he would take the moment to spend some time in his father's presence and ached for him when he quickly put duty before desire. "Forgive the intrusion, but you wouldn't have happened upon Captain Kirk?”

Sarek didn't turn from his observation of the stars. Hands clasped behind his back, he stood tall and motionless like a statue of old. "He departed fifteen minutes prior to your arrival.”

"Of course he did." Uhura sighed before the doctor could get in with his own exclamation of annoyance. They seemed destined to chase Kirk across every inch of the damned ship.

"Perhaps you might try the Officer's Mess? He spoke of performing maintenance in the area before taking his leave. Your Captain shows remarkable compassion for one so young, and has been inquiring as to the wellbeing of our people.”

Spock cocked his head in surprise. ”We shall seek the Captain as you suggest.”

Leaving Sarek to his solitude, they doubled back towards the turbolift and sped down to the lower decks.

"Maybe he's eating?" She suggested as they exited the lift.

"Not damn likely." McCoy didn't seem convinced as they cleared the corner and found themselves in the middle of a crowded Mess Hall.

They were surprised to see just how many people seemed to be coming in and out, some in groups, and others juggling work they had brought with them.

"Well, where is he?" Faced with an angry Doctor McCoy, the Yeoman in charge of supervising the shift quickly pointed back towards the kitchens.

From there, all they had to do was follow the sound of chaos.

Kirk was down to his undershirt, and even that was dripping. Standing amidst the wreckage of one of the kitchen's primary Replicators, Kirk had swapped his usual sunny smirk for an irritated frown.

Several technicians and half a dozen chefs all hovered around him in a ring. "So not a problem with the thermal regenerator, then Captain?”

“I never actually said I knew what I was doing here,” Kirk held up his hands and gazed at the malfunctioning machinery with an assessing eye. "Just, you know… wait, hang on a sec-”

Before anyone could stop him, he shoved his hand, and then his head into the whirling, shuddering machinery, oblivious to the sparks that showered down on both him and the large puddle of water surrounding him.

A loud shout of 'aha' later, and Kirk reemerged as the machine stopped its whirling and fell blissfully silent.

All congratulatory cheers were cut short by the bellow of furious indignation that erupted from the doctor.

 _"What the hell do you think you are playing at_?" McCoy's screech of rage perfectly summed up the words Uhura failed to express herself.

Kirk straightened with a jolt and banged his head against the edge of the broken tech. "Ow! Fuck!" He turned as he rubbed at his head, and his expression brightened at the sight of the doctor. "Oh hey, Bones! You fancy a milkshake?”

"No, Jim. I don't want a damned milkshake. What the hell are you playing at?" McCoy closed the space between them and grabbed Kirk firmly by the shoulders. A solid shake later, and the confused, slightly wounded expression on Kirk's face might have fooled Uhura into thinking him innocent had she not seen it used on everyone from her Xenolinguistics Instructor to the head of security back at the Academy.

"I must agree with the doctor here, Captain; your actions are most illogical,” Spock said calmly. "Aside from a lack of concern for your own well-being, a Captain should always be available to his crew without the need to launch a search party.”

From the surprised start Kirk gave Spock, Uhura realized he hadn't even been aware of their presence and concern quickly overtook annoyance. Kirk was many things, but oblivious wasn’t one of them.

"We've got a ship full of hungry crew members, Mr Spock. Not to mention ten times as many passengers. We can’t afford to have one of our main replicators out of action at a time like this." The serious expression on Kirk's face quickly gave way to a more familiar grin. "Sorry about the comm. though. I'm not used to people wanting to contact me all the time. It won't happen again.”

"Crew are able to access nourishment from other locations, Captain.”

"In their cabins. Yeah, no. I'm not about to force people to spend what little free time I have to order them to take sitting in solitude because we are unable to meet one of their basic requirements. That is illogical, Spock.”

"And what about your basic requirements huh? You eaten Jim?" McCoy hadn't released Kirk's shoulders, and while the captain had made no attempt to remove his grip, Uhura could see something shift between them.

The kitchen staff all wisely made themselves scarce. She was tempted to join them.

"Don't do this now, Bones,” Kirk said, the exhaustion in his voice betraying him.

" _No_ , _damnit_!" McCoy growled and gave him another good shake. "How about sleep? You slept yet? I’m gonna guess not, since you look like canned shit. Christ, Jim!”

McCoy could clearly see something the rest of them were overlooking. How much of that was professional experience, and how much of it was prolonged exposure to Kirk’s bullshit?

Kirk’s blue eyes were even brighter than usual, the skin around them finely lined with fatigue. His shoulders, usually held straight and proud, were curved forward, as if he lacked the energy to stand completely upright, or worse, was unconsciously curling in on himself to ease the pain in other areas.

Following those clues that lead Uhura to give Kirk the most thorough once over she had done since meeting him. Kirk had been drunk then. He had no such excuse now for the way he swayed slightly where he stood.

The weight on his left leg was shifted to alleviate pressure on his right knee; though soaked from the malfunctioning replicator, the usually sleek lines of Kirk's abdomen were swollen and out of shape; his pupils uneven; his left wrist hung uselessly; the bruises on his face had darkened to black, and his ability to make them look like a natural part of his persona was rapidly fading.

The result was a very young, very fragile-looking human. He didn’t look like the reckless asshole who goaded Spoke into a fight; he looked like one of the shellshocked, wounded crew members huddled on bunks in Medical.

Kirk still clung tenaciously to his stubbornness and he met McCoy's glare with one of his own. "Have you? Slept? Eaten? I bet you haven’t."

"I'm not the one who looks like he's gone ten rounds with an Orion Gladiator." McCoy pushed him away with a gentleness at odds with his tone and fished out his tricorder. "Now hold the fuck still while I figure out which part of you is going to require the most work and come with me." The medical device in his hands started to whistle and flash the second it came in range of Kirk.

Sensing he wasn't going to win this round – a smart move, seeing as Spock would probably just carry him to Medical if necessary – Kirk deflated and let McCoy work, but not without a final shot. "Jeeze Bones, which is it? Hold still or come with you?”

"Shut _up_ , Jim!”

They all started at the broken sound to McCoy's voice. Under all that anger and hot air, Uhura had never imagined the doctor could sound so utterly defeated.

Neither did Kirk. The cocky expression melted instantly from his face. He looked young, earnest and almost guilty as he swayed on the spot. "Hey, Bones, hey. I'm sorry okay? I'll come with you. You can hypo me as much as you like and I swear I won't complain. Promise."

It was Kirk's turn to reach for McCoy's shoulders in what looked like a comforting gesture.

The tricorder beeped as it delivered its report, McCoy’s face paling with each reading. ”McCoy to Medical.”

" _Nurse Chapel, doctor_.”

"Prep bay six for surgery. I'm bringing in a trauma patient for emergency laparotomy. Get me six bags of plasma, 50ccs of Vancomycin and call in M'benga." Uhura understood only a fraction of what McCoy barked at his second in command, but she knew enough to know that any kind of abdominal surgery was serious.

Kirk didn't seem to appreciate the urgency of the situation though. "Whoah, hang on a minute Bones! I do not need surgery!”

Kirk made every attempt to back away, hands held up in supplication and his best smile fixed like a rigid mask on his face. Even Uhura could see through it to the fractured emotions beneath.

"Your core temperate is high enough for me to classify every word out of your mouth as a product of delirium." McCoy was all business now, any sense of personal association between him and Kirk pushed aside with every beep his tricorder made. "Spock. Carry him.”

It was a contest to see who looked more surprised by McCoy's request. As it was so difficult to prompt any visible emotional response from Spock, it trumped the wide-eyed boggle of bemusement on Kirk's face.

"What the hell? No way. I don't need to be carried anywhere!" Kirk flailed his arms in an attempt to put some distance between himself and McCoy, but only managed to grimace as he shifted the weight on his injured knee.

"You've ruptured the cartilage in your left knee. You've fractured your right knee. One of us is carrying your sorry ass to Medical, and since I kinda have my hands full already, it's Spock or the lovely Lieutenant here.”

The assessment of Kirk's condition was enough to appease Spock's curiosity and he moved forward to comply with McCoy's wishes. It wasn't as if he got embarrassed, unlike Kirk, was had gone incredibly red in the few seconds that had passed.

Uhura was stronger than she looked, and Kirk was nothing but sleek muscle and bone. It would suck for both of them, but in an emergency, she knew she could probably do it.

It would be worth every moment of discomfort.

Her expression said as much.

“Don’t even think about it,” he ordered her. “Spock, don't you dare! I'm still Captain, right? Well as your Captain I- goddamnit Bones!”

Even Uhura had to wince at the force with which the hypo was stabbed into Kirk's neck. That had to have hurt.

"As understandable as your frustrations are, I believe he will be most upset with you once he awakens, Doctor," Spock observed, though he deftly caught Kirk as the Captain keeled over right into his waiting arms.

"He also said I could hypo him as much as I liked." McCoy clearly didn't give a damn. "Now are you just going to stand there man, or can I actually expect to see my patient in surgery sometime this century?”

Spock chose not to dignify the remark with a response. Instead, he lifted Kirk into a more comfortable position and followed the doctor.

Uhura had to run to keep up with the pace set: both Spock and the doctor had longer strides and adrenaline on their sides.

The busy corridors made navigating them as quickly as they needed to difficult, even with McCoy bellowing to everyone to get out of the goddamn way!

"Uhura to Bridge.”

"Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

"Mr Chekov, I need you to clear the corridors between the Officer's Mess and Medical.”

At the sound of his confused but positive response, Uhura killed the connection and doubled her pace to catch up.


	2. Spock

James Kirk was remarkably skilled at attracting attention to himself. As a cadet, the trait had been an unfavorable disruption to the cohesive learning program of his peers, and a discredit to his own paternal legacy.

While their acquaintance had begun only days prior, Spock had in no way been ignorant of Kirk's existence; he doubted any at the Academy were. Aside from an alarmingly volatile conduct record, the young cadet's academic record was quite remarkable.

Spock's fellow instructors at the Academy had all been torn between exasperation and admiration where Kirk was concerned. Those with more sympathetic temperaments forgave his arrogance and disruptive behavior in light of his personal history and deep potential. Those who were less favorable to Kirk's devious smile were often heard to suggest the need for 'a good thrashing'.

Spock doubted corporal punishment was the answer to Kirk's many and varied character defects. His ability to frequently engage in physical altercations suggested that the infliction of pain did nothing to dampen the maverick in him.

Perhaps it even heightened those aspects of his personality? Spock had certainly been presented with enough evidence to support such a conclusion.

The latest, and most significant was currently displayed in the form of unconscious limbs and shallow breathing.

Attempts to understand the enigma that was Captain Kirk would have to be delayed in favor of a clinical look into Spock's own failure in his duties. As First Officer, he was charged with numerous tasks, not least of which was to ensure his Captain was provided with all the tools and support required to perform at optimum levels.

While serving under Captain Pike, Spock had oft been commended for his faultless performance.

Since officially retaking his former commission, this time under a new and inexperienced Captain, Spock should have been twice as diligent.

Instead, he had allowed himself to become… distracted.

More so, he had fallen into the trap of believing the pretenses Kirk portrayed to the crew without once engaging the observational skills he so prided himself on.

Anyone could see the Captain was in extreme physical distress. Likewise, the actions Spock had accepted as negligence on Kirk's behalf had, in fact, been inexperience.

Admirable as his leadership abilities were when performing under extreme stress, Kirk had no experience captaining a crew operating in deep space, nor did he have familiar training to fall back on. So, acting as he saw fit, Kirk had failed to follow regulations when Spock should have been on hand to offer advice and support.

Though Doctor McCoy was a human most prone to extreme hyperbole, there was logic in his assessment of the captain's condition, and Spock berated himself for allowing it to have gone undiagnosed and untreated for more than seventeen hours.

He was also aware that much of the damage inflicted upon the Captain's body was, if not of his own doing, then likely exacerbated by the physical altercation he himself had instigated.

The thought was shameful.

"Put him over there."

Upon arrival at Medical, Spock was taken aback by the sheer volume of people still being treated for various calamities. While he had read the reports filtering in from different departments, the numbers recorded did not support the vast traffic filtering in and out of Medical. He concluded that, much like the Captain, crewmembers were likely delaying vital treatment in order to continue their duties.

Some might call such actions admirable: Spock was not one of them. There was no shame in requiring medical treatment for an injury or condition not of your making, and when refusing to seek such aid placed one in a more serious state of malady, such actions should be considered wanton negligence towards their duties.

Spock believed the Captain would share his assessment, at least in regards to the crew. He was a very contradictory human.

Of the three Doctors and nine Nurses, only two and five were present. Doctor Puri had of course been terminated during the Narada's attack. Two nurses were also on the list of fatalities.

As this was his first placement as a senior medical technician aboard a starship, Spock had to profess his admiration for McCoy's ability to maintain a functioning Medical Base. That he had done so as well as performing several major surgeries was only more reason for commendation.

A senior nurse Spock knew as Christine Chapel had arranged for a biobed. Spock followed her lead and took care to place the body of his Captain upon it with as much gentleness as he could perform.

A romantic association with Nyota Uhura was most useful in helping Spock learn when and where to limit the use of his physical abilities. One careless application of strength could cause great harm and distress to a human, two things he endeavored to avoid.

The Captain did not stir as he was laid down on the bed. Nor did he move when McCoy took a laser cutter to his uniform and quickly bared a multitude of injuries to the shocked eyes of those who had gathered around the bed.

"Oh my god." Nyota looked horrified when Spock spared a moment to glance in her direction. Her usual expression when dealing with or referring to James Kirk was barely concealed disgust. Interesting that it had so quickly developed into concern. "Why didn't he say anything? Idiot!"

"Hey!" McCoy did not stop his activity to look Nyota directly in the eye, but the tightening of the rhytides around his eyes made it clear his current mood was not forgiving. "It's not his fault. Back off."

That… was interesting. Spock filed the reaction away for future reference. Doctor McCoy was the first to express displeasure at Kirk’s reckless behavior, but he did not tolerate discourteous statements made towards him.

Fascinating.

Nyota shared his surprise, for she fell silent and did not express further opinion on the matter. Had she done so, McCoy might not have even heard. After baring Kirk’s swollen abdomen, he began to issue instructions to the team of professionals awaiting orders.

Spock examined the evidence of tissue hematoma evident on Kirk’s - _Jim’s_ \- torso. Combined with the distended flesh of his abdomen, it led Spock to suspect gastrointestinal hemorrhaging, the most concerning for all the injuries being recorded by the biobed's internal computer.

That he had remained upright and functional for so long could only be credited to remarkably solid control of Jim's own neurological processing of pain.

"Doctor, the computer is reporting an unusually low cycle of beats per minute of the Captain's heart. Given his current condition, should it not be elevated?"

Seventy-three beats per minute were remarkably average for a human.

"This is high," McCoy grunted as he prepped his tricorder. "His resting pulse is less than forty. Gives me the goddamn creeps watching him sleep."

"I understand."

Sensing the window in which Jim could be successfully treated grow smaller with each interruption, Spock made the decision to leave the Captain's treatment in McCoy's hands.

"Lieutenant Uhura, I believe you are absent from your post. Please return to the Bridge and inform Mr. Sulu that I shall return in time to oversee the next rotation."

Though his words were not the comforting ones he knew Nyota wished to hear, he also knew that she would take no personal offense from his professional distance.

"Aye, sir." She nodded. A last look at Jim and she left Medical as ordered.

"Doctor, with your permission I wish an audience with Captain Pike, should he be fit for visitors."

Had Jim been conscious, Spock imagined he might have been surprised by the underhanded tactic Spock had just utilized. McCoy, too busy prepping for surgery, did not compute the request at full, but merely waved his arm dismissively. "Yeah yeah, go ahead. Nurse Chapel, prep him with 20ccs of Levobupivacaine and hook up the plasma."

Spock did not wait for further instruction and made way to the private rooms off the main ward.

Captain Pike was conscious when Spock entered his private room following a courteous knock. Thanks to Doctor McCoy's skilled hands, the neuro damage inflicted by Nero's torture would in time heal. Until it did, Pike remained a fortunate survivor of a being who had killed more than he had spared.

"Captain Pike. It is good to see you recovering so swiftly." Spock stopped at the foot of the gently beeping biobed and fell at ease.

Bruised and haggard, Pike was by no means well, but his condition had greatly improved since last Spock had seen him.

With a faint smile, Pike reminded Spock why he had been so gratified to be working alongside him. Pike always managed to be exactly what those around him needed, be that a leader, a mentor, or a friend. It was a prized skill in a commanding officer.

"Something I have you to thank for, Mr. Spock." Pike was inclined against a pillow, the bed elevated for optimal support of the spine and cranium. "Your actions do you great credit."

If Spock were human, he might have shifted his bodyweight in discomfort. As it was, he did not. "Thanks are not necessary, Captain, but as they have been expressed, I must inform you that the praise belongs solely to James Kirk. I see now why you promoted him as you did."

The paleness of his skin did nothing to dim the amusement in Pike's eyes. "He got to you too, huh? Damn it, Spock, I need someone to stay immune to that kid's charms." Though his words, taken at face value, seemed like a reprimand, Spock calculated that in combination with the expression of humor on Pike's face, the Captain was, in fact, making a jest.

Still, clarification would help. "I am afraid I do not understand your meaning. Perhaps you might clarify?"

Pike laughed in what Spock hoped was amusement at the situation, and not Spock himself.

"I mean there needs to be someone on this ship – someone with working legs mind you – who can call Kirk on his bullshit." Ah. There. A flash of emotion Spock concluded as frustration. Of course Pike was unhappy with his own physical limitations. Perhaps he and Jim were more alike than first thought?

"While I can assure you I will always endeavor to see that all actions taken by the crew are for the betterment and productivity of the ship, including my association with Acting Captain Kirk," If not before, then from here onwards. "I believe Doctor McCoy is more than willing to, as you say, 'call him on his bullshit'."

Pike rolled his eyes. A very human and juvenile expression on such a distinguished officer. "McCoy’s wrapped around Kirk's finger, and they both know it."

Of course. McCoy had smuggled Jim on-board, despite the risk to his own career. But then had he not just seen the unimaginable when Jim had not only apologized to the doctor but also backed down, however momentarily?

"You believe the relationship between Kirk and McCoy to be a manipulative one?"

From what Spock had observed of Jim, the young Captain was skilled at manipulating situations for his own gain, but he did not seem someone prone to manipulating others around him. Except perhaps his First Officer.

"You misunderstand me, Spock." Pike's smile softened in fondness. "They have been getting each other into and out of trouble since the day they met. Granted, Kirk is often the one starting things, but those two are as thick as thieves."

Spock did not approve of the colloquial term when it was clearly so inappropriate. He remained silent.

"Did you know the Academic Board tried to kick McCoy out in their first year?"

Recalling the doctor's records, Spock had no recollection of such a black mark. He had been responsible for the recruitment of all crew-members, even ones such as Doctor McCoy, who had been assigned to the Enterprise on Pike's request.

Alongside James T. Kirk.

"I did not know that."

"Hm. Yes." Pike didn’t look concerned by the matter. If anything, he seemed to be recalling the incident with great affection. "He failed the EES. Four times."

Cadets were required as part of their academic portfolio to undertake an Emergency Evacuation Simulation as part of their first-year examinations. The test was designed to assess an individual's ability to maintain courage and composure during the forced evacuation of a starship.

While Spock himself had found the test to be trite and uninspired, the majority of the student body found it a more daunting task than even the _Kobayashi Maru_. Failure to pass the EES would prevent a cadet from completing the requisite credits to proceed to the second year. The _Kobayashi Maru_ on the other hand, as feared as it was, might not so affect a student's record.

That McCoy had failed the test four times was unheard of. "Am I to assume correctly that the Academic Board took this as a sign of his unsuitability for placement?"

"And the rest." Pike agreed. "They gave him more opportunities than anyone has ever had before because the man is a medical genius. It would have been a criminal waste of his talents had he not been allowed to resit for a final time."

"Might I inquire what parameters changed in order for the doctor to succeed after prior failure?"

Pike laughed again. "Kirk convinced the Board to let him take the test with McCoy."

Spock nodded his head. The EES, like the _Kobayashi Maru_ , was designed as a multi-person simulation. However, "That would not have any effect on an instructor's assessment of the doctor's performance."

"No. It wouldn't." Pike chuckled. "And he probably would have failed for a fifth time if Kirk hadn’t stopped breathing less than a minute after the Sim. started. McCoy was so distracted keeping the kid alive that he forgot all about the test and passed with flying colors."

Understanding dawned on Spock with sudden clarity. He admonished himself for such obtuseness as he suddenly understood the purpose of the story Pike was recounting. "You mean to say Kirk deliberately sabotaged his own health in order to help Doctor McCoy overcome his aviaphobia?"

"He maintains to this day that he has no idea what happened." For all Pike was still smiling, his eyes were no longer lit with the same animation, but a quiet seriousness.

"You do not believe him," Spock surmised.

"I believe that Kirk is not as self-destructive as he might sometimes appear. He is not reckless with all aspects of his well-being. Perhaps he simply feels that there are other things which are more important?"

Pike had heard everything that had happened on the ward with Jim. He had probably also overheard McCoy and Nyota, and possibly McCoy's endless rants about Jim's 'reckless stupidity'. He understood exactly what had happened today, and he did so without being witness to events, or even leaving his bed. Now, he was attempting to help Spock understand as well.

Spock was once again humbled by his Commanding Officer's ability to lead so effortlessly.

Message received and computed, Spock took note of the change in readings from Pike's biobed. Swift as his recovery was, it would not do to push. "I am grateful that the doctor passed, as it is thanks to his skills that you remain with us, Captain. Now, I will leave you to your rest and ensure that all ship's reports are sent to you by next duty.

"I appreciate that Mr. Spock, thank you." The warmth was back in Pike's eyes as he sank back into the comfort of the bed, now clearly exhausted. Spock had not addressed the reason he had sought Pike in the first place, but armed with this new information, he believed that doing so was no longer necessary.

"Rest well, sir." Spock inclined his head and turned to leave. As he reached the door, Pike's voice called him back.

"Mr. Spock?"

"Sir?"

"I am truly sorry for everything you have lost." The genuine sorrow on Pike's face was wretched. Spock wondered if Nero had made him watch. "I wish I could fix this for you son, I really do. But know you will always have a home and a family here on the _Enterprise_."

Unable to answer without compromising himself, Spock nodded his head and quickly left.

After seeking a moment of solace in the labs, Spock returned to the Bridge in time to oversee the rotation of crew. Nyota made several attempts to meet his eye, as did the rest of the crew. No doubt rumors of the Captain's condition had circulated fast.

It was Spock's duty to contain them where he could, and when not, then smooth over the waters that would quickly become turbulent in Jim's absence.

Taking a seat, Spock addressed the ship, knowing Jim was still in surgery.

"By now you will no doubt have heard speculation that Captain Kirk has been admitted to Medical in a critical condition. I am willing to confirm this but would like to make it clear that his chances of a full recovery are excellent. You will be notified to his condition as and when information becomes available. Until then I trust you will continue to perform your duties admirably. Spock out."

"Ze Keptain is hurt?"

"Surgery? What's wrong with him?"

"Did McCoy give you any indication of how long he's going to be under?"

"Is he going to die?"

"What about Pike?"

The questions were predictable and welcome. Concern for Jim's wellbeing was a positive response from the crew. It was for this reason that Spock did not scold them for their lack of decorum while on duty.

He did, however, hold up one hand to end the endless stream of questions. "Enough. Captain Kirk is in the best of hands. Besides," there was a touch of irony in his voice as he spoke, "I do not believe even James Kirk is capricious enough to create us even more paperwork by dying unduly."

The looks on the faces of the crew were quite comical, as they each attempted to ascertain the seriousness of his statement. Of course, he was jesting, though perhaps only Nyota could tell. Even she looked surprised.

Spock took her expression to suggest that his behavior was unusual. Perhaps it was. He was not usually one prone to making quips of any kind.

Perhaps Jim Kirk was rubbing off on him?

The next shift came and went. Spock meditated after taking light sustenance. The temptation to remain in his cabin was strong, but remembering Jim's earlier suggestion that the crew should not be alone during such times, he instead made circuits of the recreational rooms and the Officer's Mess. He did not cover as much ground as he would have liked, for in each new location he reached, dozens of crewmembers would find occasion to race to his side in search of news of the Captain.

Then there were the crewmembers who did not even do him the courtesy of searching him out. Mr. Scott had reached a record in the last hour by comming Spock nineteen times.

It seemed that as well as possessing a concern for Jim's welfare, the Senior Engineer was laboring under his own guilt for neither noticing Jim's condition nor stopping him from climbing all over the ship's engines like a primate.

Spock remained perfectly calm with each approach but eventually decided that eight hours was an appropriate period, and made his way back to Medical.

There he was immediately set upon by Nurse Chapel, who led Spock to the private room next to Captain Pike's.

The sight he found inside stirred strange warmth in Spock's chest.

He noticed the Captain first. Jim lay on his side, propped up by pillows and breathing slowly into a mask that covered his nose and mouth. Even in the limited light, Spock could make out his own fingerprints in the contusions around Jim's neck and wondered if perhaps he had caused Laryngeal perichondritis. He was covered to the shoulders by white sheets, and one of Doctor McCoy's large hands.

Exhausted from the last in a long line of surgeries, McCoy had clearly lost an attempt to watch over his patient. He lay sprawled out over the edge of the bed, one arm pillowing his head, the other curled over Jim's, ready to wake at the slightest twitch.

Spock took his observation from Jim's bio-readings to understand that surgery had been successful, and recovery was anticipated. He confirmed this belief with Nurse Chapel and made his announcement to the crew. After fielding one last comm. from Mr. Scott, Spock returned to the Captain's room and settled down into a quiet meditation.

These two men had gone above and beyond the call of duty for the ship: Spock would ensure no one disturbed their rest.


	3. Chekov

Pavel Chekov had learned more about life in the last three days than he had in his entire seventeen years of existence prior. Not just life, but loss, love, and victory. Failure too. That, he thought in a moment of clarity, might be the reason why he found it impossible to sleep that night.

As a junior officer, he bunked in a room with three other Ensigns. One was in engineering; Chekov hadn't seen him once since leaving space dock. He knew the man was alive – had seen his name on the roster Uhura had spent the last shift compiling - but not much more. The third bed had once been assigned to James T. Kirk, only to be rotated to an Ensign in the Stella cartography department – a cadet not on Uhura's list of survivors. It didn't take someone of Pavel's intellect to guess that Kirk would have had a place on _The Enterprise_ under Pike's command, nor that the Brass wouldn't have filled the spot left open on the oversubscribed flagship once Kirk was grounded.

He'd have taken Kirk even at his most annoying and obnoxious if only to rid the small room of the hollow silence.

Kirk was in sickbay though, recovering well from emergency surgery. Commander Spock had made the announcement to the crew more than ten hours after Kirk had been admitted. Chekov wasn't the only person on the bridge who had cheered at the news.

Maybe The Enterprise was cursed? Only a week out of dry dock and two of her three captains had needed major surgery. The third had watched his entire planet sucked into a black hole.

The guilt he had felt the day before was back, thick and niggling at his gut. As everyone was quick to point out, Chekov was a genius and smart enough not to assign himself undue blame when things went to hell. Likewise, he was just as capable of self-assessment and knew exactly when he had messed up. Three days into his commission and he'd failed monumentally. Twice.

First with Commander Spock's mother. The less said about that the better.

And then with Kirk.

He'd known Kirk, Acting Captain or not, had been assigned a room with him. He'd also learned enough of Kirk's character to know that he wasn't presumptuous enough to take Pike's bed, even if he did look like he belonged in his chair. Chekov should have checked, should have _questioned_ , and when the empty bed in their room remained so long after they had all left the bridge, he should have hunted Kirk down and made sure he had followed his own advice to rest.

Or at least informed Doctor McCoy.

Instead, he'd stayed silent and so had the uncomfortable knowledge that he'd failed both his commanding officers within hours of each other.

Hence the reason he couldn't sleep.

Resolved not to just lay in bed uselessly, Chekov dressed in a clean uniform and peered out into the hallway, half expecting to find it as empty and silent as his room.

It was bustling with life and activity as shifts overlapped and crew members moved about. They weren't quite as smooth and efficient as they would usually be, and there was an air of urgency to every movement, but instantly Chekov felt himself relax into the activity.

He let the ebb and flow drag him down the corridor and into a turbo lift. With no real destination in mind, he resolved to see where he ended up and then inquire if he could be of assistance.

Instead, he found himself standing outside sickbay. The doors opened for him automatically and a harried-looking nurse was on him in an instant.

"I've not seen you in here yet. Is there something they do to you Command Track Cadets that impedes your ability to seek medical assistance?"

Chekov blinked dumbly, momentarily struck mute by both the nurse's stern attitude and her short hemline. It wasn't until she started to wave a tricorder in his direction that he recovered his wits. "Nyet, I am not injured." He put his hands up in a gestured of innocence.

"The last person who said that to me was bleeding from his eardrums." She snapped, an intent focus on the medical device.

A weak chuckle from the other side of the room saved Chekov from having to stammer out further excuses. "Aw come on Christine, give the kid a break."

The sound of his captain's voice brought Chekov up short. He could feel the grin split his face and he hastily pushed past Christine to get a better look. Undeterred, she followed him with the tricorder.

"You're a fine one to talk, moron."

"That's Acting Captain Moron to you, Nurse Chapel." Up close, Kirk looked awful. The bruises that had seemed so inconsequential when they were all fighting for their lives were black and ugly, marring Kirk's handsome features into something barely recognizable. There was even a slight sheen to his blue eyes that somehow robbed him of the vitality he excluded in waves.

Something must have shown on Chekov's face. Kirk sighed, then summoned a smile that, while a shadow of its usual brilliance, had enough of his patented charisma to settle Chekov's nerves.

The beeping tricorder gave him the all-clear. Nurse Chapel huffed and turned her attention to the captain. "Alright then Captain Moron, how are you feeling? Do you need another antiemetic?"

If he could have moved, Kirk would have flinched clean off the biobed. As he was flat on his back and not twitching so much as a finger, he settled for pouting at her instead. "I swear Bones' bedside manner is rubbing off on you."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It wasn't meant as one," Kirk muttered before turning his attention back to Chekov, who was slowly edging himself away from the irate nurse. "You wanna take a seat, Mr. Chekov? I'm getting vertigo just looking at you. No, that isn't me saying I want more drugs!" He hastily supplied when Chapel reached towards him with a hypospray. She shrugged and then grinned – a truly terrifying expression – before making her way to the back of the ward.

Chekov scrambled to take the seat close to the bed and eyed the retreating nurse warily. "She is…" He struggled to find the words to describe her. Between Chapel and McCoy, he was certain he didn't ever want to have to seek medical help while onboard.

"She's exhausted." Kirk looked sympathetic. "She's normally pretty chilled. Compared to Bones, anyway. He's a grumpy bastard even on a good day."

"Doctor McCoy is…" Chekov looked around, suddenly nervous and half expecting to be pounced on by the terrifying doctor.

"Asleep, I hope," Kirk said. "I swear to god he's a nightmare after thirty-six hours."

Kirk had yet to move an inch, and Chekov had to ask. "Are you alright, Captain?"

"Hmm? Oh yeah, I'm good, why'd you ask?" Kirk followed his gaze around sickbay and laughed. The action made him wince. "Oh right. Well, I'm on the mend. I'll be up and antagonizing you all in no time."

"That is good news, sir."

"How about you, Chekov. It's the middle of Gamma shift. Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

There was no way for Kirk to know what time of day it was, not from flat on his back in sickbay. Chekov was impressed.

"I…" He lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.

"Can't sleep, huh? Yeah, I know the feeling." Kirk flashed him a self-deprecating grin then laughed again. "Look, can you grab me a pillow or something?"

He had to be feeling decidedly vulnerable like that, flat on his back, only a sheet pulled up to his shoulders. Chekov had been studiously looking at his face, and not the rings of bruises around his throat.

He scrabbled to retrieve a pillow, then hesitated. "Are you allowed?"

"Yeah, Bones won't come after you, I promise." Kirk shifted, color leaching from his face as Chekov helped prop him up with the pillow. As soon as he was settled his whole body seemed to go limp and he sighed blissfully. "Shit, that's better. Ok, so spill."

"Spill, sir?"

"Don't pull a Spock on me," Kirk said with an expression not unlike Chapel's. "You obviously can't sleep and you're clearly not firing on all cylinders if you're wandering around in sickbay."

"Maybe I was coming to see how you were doing, sir?"

Kirk didn't look like he believed him. He obviously didn't know about the standing orders Spock had been forced to impose to ensure Kirk was allowed enough peace and quiet to recover. Orders that Chekov was doing a poor job of obeying.

"Right," Kirk said. "Well, okay then. Since you're fine and dandy and all, you can fill me in on everything I've missed."

He didn't think Kirk was all that interested in ship's gossip – despite being at the center of it all – and so anything Chekov had to say would probably be classed as 'work'. He crossed his arms and tried to look stern, failing miserably. This was a man who had stared down a deranged Romulan without so much as a flinch. This was the man who'd _provoked Spock into a fight_. Intimidation was probably not going to be Chekov's best tactic.

"I should leave you to rest, yes?" He said.

Kirk snorted then rolled his eyes. "Come on man, you're supposed to be this wunderkind genius and that's the best you can do?"

"Commander Spock said you should rest."

"I'm totally resting," Kirk said earnestly. "Laying down and everything."

"Doctor McCoy would not like it."

"What Bones doesn't know can't hurt him. Please, Chekov, I'm going crazy here. Can you at least tell me Scotty hasn't blown anything up?" Drugged blue eyes looked up at him earnestly.

Miserably, Chekov tried to resist. "I don't think…"

"Don't make me pull rank on you." Earnestness morphed into amusement. "Actually wait, this is probably the first and last time I'll get to do that." The words were said without the slightest hint of bitterness and Kirk's smile was as wide and beguiling as ever, despite the pull at lips that were split open in three places.

"The Commander will be very angry," Chekov said quietly. As would McCoy, and Chekov was not as bull-headed or carefree as Kirk.

"How come Spock is scarier than I am?" The pout was back.

"He did try to kill you, sir," Chekov pointed out, wondering if Kirk had forgotten. He had a head injury, by all accounts.

"I insulted his mother less than a handful of hours after she was murdered," Kirk said seriously. "I'd say it was a justified reaction." Chekov couldn't help it. He flinched, and Kirk drugged to the eyeballs and confined to a bed, read him like an open book. "Is that what's bugging you?"

There was something quietly seductive about Jim Kirk, something that had nothing to do with his somewhat legendary reputation in the bedroom. Chekov felt like he could tell the captain anything, _everything_. And that he should.

"I lost her." The words were whispered, but in the empty stillness of sickbay, Kirk would have had no trouble hearing them.

"You didn't lose her, Chekov. It wasn't your fault."

"I caught you." And since he'd done it once, he should have been able to repeat the process.

Kirk nodded. "You did. I never thanked you for that, did I?" He hadn't, but then there had been more pressing concerns at the time. "Well thank you. Look," He tried to sit up and though his face pulled into a grimace he shrugged off Chekov's attempts to help him. "You beamed a half dozen people from an unstable environment all at the same time. You did that, you saved their lives, Spock's included."

"If I'd been faster…" If he'd run the calculations more quickly, added more variables, he might have predicted...

"And if Sulu and I had blown that drill quicker, then Vulcan would never have been destroyed in the first place." Kirk cut him off gently. "We did everything we could to stop it, but it wasn't enough. That doesn't make it our fault."

"No, indeed it does not."

Spock's quiet, serious voice was so unexpected that Chekov knocked his chair over in his haste to stand. "Commander Spock, I, we…"

Spock had changed into fresh blues and stood silhouetted in the entrance to sickbay, his hands resting at the small of his back.

"You believe that I hold you in some way responsible for the death of my mother," Spock surmised, making it clear he had heard enough of their conversation to know exactly why Chekov was here in the one place they had all been banned from visiting.

When he said the words out loud, Chekov couldn't help but shrink back. He was surprised when Kirk's knuckles brushed against his side in a silent gesture of support.

Taking Chekov's silence as an affirmative answer, Spock moved closer. "You are incorrect. The blame rests with Nero and his crew. You performed your duties admirably and it is only thanks to this that both myself and Captain Kirk are alive today."

"That's Spock talk for 'you rock'," Kirk whispered loudly. "I think."

Spock said nothing. That in itself was telling, Chekov supposed.

"Still, I really am very, very sorry," Chekov said, his heart behind every word. He couldn't imagine how Spock was still functioning.

Spock inclined his head.

Chekov took that as a sign to make his leave. He turned to Kirk and said, "I'm glad to see you feeling better, Captain. The Bridge is very quiet without you."

"Yeah well, just make sure you and Sulu don't scratch this girl up anymore. Pike's gonna be pissed enough as it is."

"Technically it was I whom he ordered to ensure the _Enterprise_ remained undamaged." Spock took Chekov's place beside Kirk's bed.

As he left, the soft conversation followed him.

"Good point. You think he'll remember that?"

"I can endeavor to remind him, should you wish, sir."

The two officers were lost to their own world and it was entirely possible that hell had just frozen over.

Suddenly feeling overcome with exhaustion, Chekov returned to his room and crashed out on the bed closest to the door. Kirk wasn't going to need it.


	4. McCoy

McCoy woke up with only one thought on his mind: Jim Kirk's prolonged and painful murder.

He didn't pause to question the instinct. He had lived with Jim for close to three years now and that was long enough to learn that when how woke up feeling like shit, Jim was most likely responsible for the how, if not why.

The last time he had felt half as bad had been Joanna's birthday. He'd spent all morning talking to her via comm, and all afternoon trying to pass his senior finals. Seventy-two hours of solid work, and when all he'd wanted to do was pass out face first on his bed and pray for a long and peaceful death, Jim had literally manhandled him to some dive of a bar, poured three shots of whiskey down his throat, and the next thing McCoy knew, he was waking up with a pair of curvaceous twins, his thesis being read on speaker by the computer in a flat monotone.

Jim, damn him to hell and back, had bounced into the dorm while McCoy was attempting to drown himself in the shower, fresh as a daisy and covered with hickeys he later admitted had been the result of a rather gymnastic hook up with Gaila.

Jim had met his match in that one – never had McCoy encountered a woman who could go toe to toe with James Kirk in both obnoxious cheer and sexual promiscuity.

Thoughts of his best friend's on again-off again-who the hell knew lover brought McCoy up short. He jerked into full consciousness and banged his head off a shelf he had never installed over his bed.

Swearing, he called on the lights.

Not his bed. He was on the couch in Doctor Puri's office. Doctor Puri, who was dead.

The last three days came flooding back, along with a strange combination of nausea and hunger. His blood sugar must be in the basement.

The crack of his spine and shoulders told him he was far too old to be sleeping on the couch but he'd given up his single room –perks of a rank he didn't care much for – to members of the Vulcan Council.

He'd need coffee. Coffee and food. First though, to see if the reckless, idiotic ball of insanity and dumb luck that called itself James Kirk had stayed where McCoy left him.

It wouldn't be the first time McCoy had given him orders to rest only for Jim to develop a case of sudden and acute deafness.

He'd give the man his dues though. Stepping out into the overcrowded and understaffed sickbay, and Jim was there, right where McCoy had left him in the private booth.

He wasn't resting. God forbid it. But he was still in bed, and he did look slightly better than he had last night.

Of course last night McCoy had been forced to restart his heart three times. So it wasn't an improvement on much.

"Is it too much to ask for you to actually do as you're told?" McCoy replicated a cup of coffee before steering his way to check the vitals displayed above Jim's head. White blood cell count was still sky-high. The exact opposite of his blood pressure.

"Hey Bones!" Jim looked absolutely delighted to see him, but then he usually did. He reminded McCoy of a puppy in those regards; as pleased to see you after ten minutes apart as he was ten weeks. The PADD resting in his lap reflected a bright glow on his face, highlighting the black eyes and the sharp hollows of his cheeks. He'd make sure someone brought the kid some food. And watched him eat it. Trying to get Jim to eat when he was stressed or overexcited was like leading a horse to water only to find the damn creature was hydrophobic. The apple he'd played with during the Kobayashi Maru was the first and last thing he'd seen Jim eat in days.

"You better be playing chess on that thing," McCoy threatened. He let a tricorder run its analysis, but like the old sawbones Jim accused him of being, he took the pulse by hand. Jim's skin was still overly warm to the touch.

"Totally chess," Jim lied as if they both couldn't see the Starfleet Logo illuminated on the screen.

"Really? Because it looks to me like it's the casualty list Uhura received from Fleet yesterday."

The act dropped like a stone. Jim's eyes suddenly looked terribly old in his young face. "There are so many names on here, Bones. It's taking me hours to read them. I don't…I know I should make an announcement to the crew. Someone has to."

"Let Pike," McCoy said quickly. No way in hell was he letting Jim read out every single name on that list. Not when he knew the kid would take personal responsibility for them all. Not when so many of them were friends as well as colleagues."

"You clearing him for duty?" Jim asked hopefully. "He's ok?"

McCoy hesitated. He couldn't lie to Jim, but goddamnit he wanted to banish that haunted old man look from his friend's eyes. "No Jim. He needs specialist care. I can only do so much for him here."

"You're the best surgeon there is," Jim scoffed, completely confident in his belief in McCoy. "If you can't help him, who can?"

"I'm a trauma surgeon, Jim," McCoy said with exasperation and not a small amount of fondness, "not a neuroscientist. Whatever that parasite did to him, his brain is firing off all kinds of signals that his body doesn't know how to interoperate. He's awake, he's coherent, but I can't in good conscience clear him for duty, even if his body was capable of bearing the stress."

"So it has to be me." Jim carefully ignored the implied finality of Pike's condition. Even McCoy wasn't quite sure how their relationship worked. All he did know was that Christopher Pike was the only 'adult' Jim seemed to hold any genuine respect for. Pike, likewise, was one of the few people who looked at Jim and saw what McCoy did: a pain in the ass, know it all brat with a heart of gold and so, so much potential.

So few people believed in Jim that he'd do anything not to disappoint the ones who did. McCoy had learned that the hard way.

"Let Spock do it," he suggested, knowing as soon as the words were aired that he was being unfair and more than a little amount cruel. Jim just looked at him, unimpressed and as stubborn as a mule. "Alright fine, but you're going to eat something first. And don't think this is me clearing you for duty because it isn't. You make the announcement from this bed, or you let Spock do it."

History had proved that he never got a 'yes Bones' from one of his ranted orders, but the quiet acquiescence was perhaps the closest he would come.

Grumbling to himself and knowing he wouldn't have the heart to listen to what Jim was about to do, McCoy fetched him an orange juice and a bowl of soup and held the PADD hostage until both were devoured. Then, as Jim opened up a comm to Uhura to be patched shipwide, McCoy began the check on his other patients and told himself he was doing his job. He wasn't abandoning Jim again.

" _Midshipman Jasper McCreedy. USS Richter. Ensign Elspbeth McKintosh. USS Farragut. Commander Md'efzy, No'o'an. USS Richter._ "

McCoy returned to Jim's side after an hour of reading out the list. His voice had remained strong so far but it began to rasp, a combination of dehydration and a swollen larynx. Jim looked absolutely wrecked but he struggled on, pausing only when McCoy all but shoved a straw into his mouth and forced him to drink. The result was a half-choked back, hacking cough and a dark glare fired his way. As soon as Jim got his breath back, he continued.

"Lieutenant Christian Mel, USS Enterprise. Ensign Gaila Me'lei. USS Farragut."

Jim's expression didn't fracture. McCoy couldn't stand to look at him.

Another hour later, just when he thought he couldn't endure it a second longer, Spock stormed into sickbay. His expression was as placid as ever, but the haste in his step gave away his urgency.

Jim's fingers had started to shake against the PADD, but he finally spoke the last name on the list.

"I know you have all lost someone you hold dear. Not just colleagues, but friends and family. Loved ones. And things seem pretty bleak. Now is not the time to be alone. Look to the person beside you and know that they are right there with you, one hundred percent. It's going to take time, and it’s going to be hard, but we are _not_ cowed, we are _not_ broken. And while we will never forget, we will not let this tragedy define us. Kirk out."

Spock didn't wait a second longer. He snatched the PADD from Jim's trembling fingers. McCoy loaded up a sedative.

The manic sheen was back in Jim's eyes but he looked at Spock with something close to horror. "Wha – I told Uhura to patch the feed through to crew decks only. She did, right? I didn't want your people to have to listen to that. I'm sorry Spock, I should have…"

"You will be silent, Captain," Spock said, not unkindly, but without any inflection at all to indicate his mood.

Miracle of miracles, Jim obeyed. He even stayed still long enough for McCoy to load him up with enough sedatives to keep an elephant down for a week. It should have been more than enough to keep Jim under for a few hours.

"Next time your doctor tells you 'no', listen to him, yes?" McCoy snapped. "Otherwise the letters after his name might as well just be there for decoration."

"Do you always refer to yourself in the third person, Doctor?" Spock sounded genuinely curious. McCoy took that to mean he was being mocked.

"Oh shut it," he grumbled to Spock, then, "Stop fighting the damn meds, Jim. Irresponsible, reckless…"

He didn't mean a word, of course. Jim knew that. McCoy had said them often enough.

"On the contrary Doctor, I feel the Captain acted most responsibly today. While unpleasant, it was a duty that needed to be performed, and he could easily have delegated that responsibility."

"To who? You? I know he does a damn fine job of pretending otherwise, but he's not that much of an asshole."

"Myself," Spock agreed. "Or Lieutenant Uhura. As Acting Communications Officer, it could have fallen within her remit. Likewise with Ensign Chekov."

"S'my responsibility. Promised." Jim muttered dreamily.

"Oh for christ's sake Jim, sleep already."

McCoy took Jim's hand and squeezed it firmly. For Jim's sake, so he knew he was not alone, and not because McCoy had been fighting tears of hysteria and exhaustion since waking.

"Wai…Spock where'sa PADD?"

"Jim!"

"Please Spock."

Curse those baby blues. And curse the Vulcan for not having a stronger constitution.

The XO passed his Captain the PADD. Jim clumsily podded at the screen, then spoke haltingly. "Kirk ta bridge."

"Sulu here."

'Uhuua?"

"Captain?" Nyota Uhura's soothing voice made Jim smile slightly sappily.

"So I'm as high as a friggin zeppelin right now, you could totally tell me your name and I'd have forgotten it by the time Bones' godawful drugs wear off."

"What can I do for you Captain?" Uhura ignored the comment, but for the first time ever, McCoy heard fondness in her voice. Trust Jim.

"Needya to patch a comm through for me. Forwarding you the co-ordination thingies."

"How the hell are you managing five-syllable words with the amount of sedatives I just loaded into your system?" McCoy complained and poked at the hypo as if it had done him personal wrong. "Christ almighty."

Jim smiled sleepily. As soon as an affirmative came through from Uhura, his eyelids slid closed. "Say hi from Uncle Jim," he muttered, drifting off into a drug-induced slumber.

Spock's face was expressionless as he handed McCoy the screen. McCoy could feel his eyebrows pull tight in confusion until the connection Uhura was patching cleared through and the sweet, clear voice of the most precious being in the universe filled McCoy's ears.

" _Daddy_!"

Goddamn, but Leonard McCoy loved Jim Kirk.


End file.
